The Light in Our Smiles
by ilovetheinternet15
Summary: Alfred has lung cancer. But after being diagnosed, everything seems to change for the worst. His mom doesn't have a smile to show, his friends disappeared, and the same question vexes him every night. "What do I do?" And a sudden letter appears in Alfred's mailbox, could the sender help Alfred, or possibly make his life more miserable? ( Hetalia does not belong to me! R&R please! )
1. Chapter 1

On my fifteenth year of summer, my doctor told me I had cancer. I remember it so vividly it was like it was almost out of a scene of a movie. An overly dramatic, horrific movie scene. My mom clenched my white t-shirt, wailing into it as if could case the loud cry. The atmosphere in the tiny, white room deteriorated with every passing minute. It wasn't that I was going to break down and cry. It was that I became more anxious for an answer to my lingering question. _What do I do? _

Finally, for what felt like years of pondering, the doctor decided to speak. "Alfred, I could speak with you _alone?"_ Empathizing 'alone' to the point where my mom had to leave the room instead of the doctor and me. Mom was obviously reluctant. I whispered a few words into her ear hopping that would be enough to reassure her to get out. And it did just the trick.

"So, what's up with my lungs Doc?" I tried not to add onto the heavy coldness in the small space that was amazingly able to contain air. But the doctor didn't show any of his methods of saying _Yeah! Be happy you have lung cancer, because you only have about four months to live! _

More or less, it was still summer, and I needed time.

"You are one of my few patients that come in and out of my hospital with a childless smile." He said, almost glaring at me.

"That's because I'm a fun kid." I replayed back with another one of my infamous, (soon to be famous if I can get to Hollywood) smiles that nobody could resist.

"You're a teenager that's lacking both in reality and seriousness. Don't act foolish. The years will fly by right before you know what hit you." Is he underestimating me? If he thinks he can bring down a serious _chat _about _adulthood, _then he has another thing coming at him. _Oh doctor Sam._ I refuse to go through another talk with him after what went down in third grade! Apparently a _little _talk about the Birds and the Bees in science class was so misleading, that everyone so happened to show up. What the hell is wrong with my doctor?! I bet he doesn't even have a degree, he probably bough it off of Ebay.

"Oh Mr. Sam," I chuckled, crossing my legs,"don't act like a father to me. You would be no better than him anyway." Those last words stung in my throat.

"Alfred, I've gone through a lot of heart-breaking things in my time. But nothing compares to you." He sighed, shaking his head. Suddenly, I felt my smile fad. Doctor Sam was, sadly, right. I can't let my mom get depressed now though. She means everything to me, as well as the only thing that's left with me.

"Mr. Sam, in all seriousness, what will happen to me?" I asked, I could no longer feel my cheeks hurt from all the smiles I'd display for the people around me. Now though, there was nobody around to see me.

He looked to me for a moment, then, a small smile appeared across his lips. _Oh come on. _A 'thank you' smile isn't needed now! I sighed, waiting for my answer.

"Well, your past visits have consisted of coughing up blood, multiple complaints about ongoing chest pain, and a cat-scan." Sam said, hinting me to connect the dots. I utterly loathed puzzles. Sure, drawing a line from dot A to B isn't much of a painstaking challenge. So ... I suppose this isn't really much of a puzzle.

"So I've already been showing the side-effects of lung cancer uh?" I said, feeling less in the moment.

"That right. Lucky you, got something right for a change." Sam scoffed. Then without any warning, it suddenly became silent. Both our expression read the same thing, just in a different manner. His read: _Good luck. _As of mine, it felt more like a nagging sadness.

* * *

After boat-loads of paper work and many phones calls to people who didn't want to be called at nine o'clock P.M., mom and I were able to go home, leaving the hospital free of my adoring smile.

"Honey, from now on, I'll be staying home with you, alright?" Mom announced to me.

"What?! But why, I'll be fine! I told you before that I forgot about the monsters in the basement!" I bawled, even though we were still siting idle in the car, in our drive way.

"Don't yell at me! I went through a lot tonight and you don't even care to be concerned, not even a little bit, about your health!" Mom yelled back at me.

"Well get your damn rest! Don't work, don't get food, don't support me!"

"I'm supporting you in your health, what more do you want from me?!"

"_Oh! _How about you tell me who my father is! So I can run away with him!" My words passed through the air so smoothly, like it was sliding on ice. Then, heated with anger, she cursed under her breath and quickly got out of the car, slamming the door as hard as possible to rattle the whole vehicle. The tolerance of that woman. I began biting down on my index finger. Something I only do when one; alone, and two; piqued.

I gazed up to our house. Why did we live in a two-story house if there's only two people living in it? It's not like we have any relatives that would drop by any time soon, not that I know of anyway. My mom works two jobs. Probably two of the crappiest jobs in the world. I pity her because of that. Though, despite all I've said, it's because of her that I live today. Of course, with the side effect of lung cancer.

* * *

Sooner or late I had to get out of that small, compressed car. For one, a danger entered my chest, or what it felt like. Digging and diving deeper, separating my desire for breath from a relaxing cold breeze. It was more of a struggle to get a single gasp of air then to the actual front door. I began panting heavily and my sight dazed. _Where the hell is the air?! _I asked myself, angered that I couldn't simply slow down. And it wasn't like I had time to search for the god damn air. With everything swirling around me, I couldn't even make out where the sky was. It was like those sayings, 'My world is turned completely upside down.' Or something like that.

At the edge of my limit, I stumbled to the ground, gripping my chest, holding all my might not to scream or give any indication of pain. To a loose though, water ran down my cheeks and some into my mouth. Salty. I insistently knew I was crying. One of the actions I thought I would never have to make in my life. But it happened. For quit some time actually. Until, everything went black.

* * *

A:N/ So this was inspired to me by the book 'The Fault in Our Stars.' It's a wonder book with romance, comedy, and a sense of overwhelming sadness and relief. It's been some time since I've written anything, so I hoped you enjoyed this. Reviews sound nice, so please, don't forget to leave one~! There's a quit a lot of mysteries in this, as I would like to think. And I didn't want to write this so bluntly to the point it's almost boring. Ponder it, endure it, and surpass it! Like, guess what happens next sort of thing.


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke up, it felt like a bomb was going off in my chest. My hand gripped my shirt again, even though it would do nothing, and probably never will. But like a cat's reflexes, my hand wasted no moment in doing something that would never be accomplished. Like stopping the pain.

"Alfred, are you alright?!" My mom's voice rung loud in my ears. I turned my head to the source of her voice, she was sitting besides me on a foot stool. Her face was smothered with make-up. Making her face look like a living corpse. And under all those layers of blush, her wrinkles laid untouched. I had to wonder if she'd always looked like that.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Only a minute after finally escaping unconsciousness and my palms were damp with cold sweat. Mom quickly placed a wet towel on my forehead. I honestly didn't know how that would ease the pain, but it still felt nice.

* * *

If there was anything I didn't know about health, it was How To Deal With Lung Cancer. But that all got cleared out when my mom got my doctor, Mr. Sam, to come over to our house.

"Alfred, how do you feel so far?" Mr. Sam asked me while digging around in his big brown bag. I only knew it was brown because he placed the bag on the side of my bed next to me.

"Like Ganondorf threw me in the Fire Temple from Ocarina Of Time and somehow only my lung took damage to my life hearts." I was a fan of Legend of Zelda.

"I see, I see. So your lungs only hurt then?" Mr. Sam asked, completely bushing aside my video game reference. I simply nodded. It felt like a huge disco ball was spinning on my chest, making me grimace with pain. My lips refused to lift upward, I couldn't even spite out a joke, much less a smile. It seemed like my lungs made everything shut down.

* * *

After a _long_ chat with Mr. Sam, he told me about how I was going to get an oxygen tank. _How fun! _I though when I first heard the word 'tank.' The only reason it _would _be fun is how people will stare at you from a distance, even though you know they're looking at you anyway. It's that feeling you get when you're getting stalked, but in this cause, on a lower level. So, 'observed' would be the correct term for this.

"Can you breath now?" Mom asked after she finished setting up the oxygen tank on a cart. (So I can bring it with me when I go out somewhere.) I nodded again. I looked to the clock on my wall, it read: 6:00 P.M.. _How is it so late?! _I asked myself, not fully aware of the time I woke up.

"Well, I'll be going to get some dinner, alright? Will you be OK here alone?" My mom questioned.

"What are you getting for dinner?" I asked, only then I notice how woozy I felt when I stood up.

"Pizza, and please, just rest." I looked up to my mom as she guided me back to my bed. She still had the same worried face. It bothered me how I couldn't see her happy. I can't even remember the last time she smiled.

* * *

I waited exactly ten minutes after my mom left to get up. She wouldn't be back until about 7:30, so I had enough time. First, I went to go check the mail, because I was expecting a new video game that I ordered online. But, that wasn't all I got.

Ever since I turned down my friend's baseball game for the doctor appointment, I haven't heard a word from them. I only had about two best friends, we were all pretty close. I wonder what happened to them. I hope they won the game. I doubt they were doing home work. Knowing them well enough, they would all get sports scholarships, that being the only possible way they could even get into college. Francis was more of a flirt than a real athlete, but he was good at motivating people. And Gilbert, man, did he know how to lighten the mood. He was always fun to be around with. They never asked me for anything, not like money or anything, but just notes for testes.

"What the ..." I stared into our red rusty mailbox. There wasn't any big packages, but a blue envelope with a tiny gold star where the return address would've been. I couldn't help but notice how detailed the star was drawn on the front. One big golden star with lines surrounding it so it could make out some depth. Of course I was curious, so I take the envelope, closed the mailbox lid, and started climbing our, somewhat, steep drive way. I never noticed until now how hard it was to walk, nor ever think I would ever think those words.

* * *

After a painstaking hike up my driveway, I sat down at the dinning table and ripped into the aqua blue envelope. Thoughts of what was held in the simple blue envelope raced across my mind. What if I couldn't fathom the words written? What if I couldn't understand? Was it even for me?

Finally, the letter was out of the blue suite that wasn't really much of an impenetrable fortress, but more like a curtain waiting to be lifted.

_Dearest Alfred,_

_ You've probably already gotten the oxygen tank from the hospital. You've probably already lost your friends by ditching them too. No offense of course. I bet you have a lot of questions. But luckily for you, I can answer them. Of course, there isn't a return address on this for a reason. I hope you're smart enough to guess why. _

_Anyway, the blue and the star have something to do with where I'm at. Can you guess? If you already know, which you probably don't, then give me a letter. At midnight tonight, place another letter into the mailbox. _

_Another thing, don't show these letters to your mom. If you do, then your dream won't come true. Don't you want revenge on me for what I did to you all those years?  
_

_ -Fault_

* * *

_What?_

My eye started twitching. Is this some joke? If this is some random stalker, then he's got the wrong idea how to do business. Like on those TV shows, usually, when someone sends a letter like this, it's either blackmail, or faith. I pretty much had lost all faith in knowing I would die sooner or later. So how is this any different? But still, the only thing that's bothering me is that ... it's so personal.


	3. Chapter 3

A:N/ I'm writing this real quick before the real chapter starts. So, I would like to thank my Beta Reader, Black Rookie, for reading my story. And so on. Anyway, on to chapter three! Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

Eventually, I had to climb up our staircase and crawl back into bed. I'm at the point where I can't tolerate the pain anymore. My lungs burn an endless flame, and I started to sweat rivers. Though, I may be exaggerating the whole processes of what should simply be walking up the stairs.

I stared up at my temporary sky. White and bland, calming, yet irritating. I almost missed seeing the clouds swift to another form or place in the sky. My eyes were clued to the ceiling, but my mind was deep into another space. A space where it was nothing but nothingness, an endless void. I wasn't dreaming, if I was, I somehow fell asleep with my eyes open. Still, that wasn't the case. I glazed over to my oxygen tank that maintained my inhales and exhales, providing an endless support of life to my lungs. Asides from the clear tubs looping around my head and up my nose, it felt normal again. Like the lung cancer thing didn't exist in the first place. 'How did it feel normal in the first place though?' I questioned, turning back to stare at the ceiling.

* * *

Not long afterwards, my mom returned with dinner. Since I didn't feel like spending like, ten minutes walking down the stairs (again), I ate in my room. Boredom didn't consume my time though, luckily, I had a TV in my room. It was small and balky, but once in a while it would finally give me about two hours to watch my favorite movie, _The Night's Awakening__._ Every time I watched the movie I saw something different. It was one of those movies where you would see it five times in theaters until it came out on disc. The movie is pretty cliche, but to me, it's hilariously overrated. _  
_

"Alfred, how does the food taste?" My mom asked, peering into my room.

"It tastes like food. Nothing special." I answered back, not moving my eyes from the screen.

Though, even after answering her question, she stayed leaning on the door frame.

"_Mom." _I said as to get out. But she didn't show any acknowledgment of my simple 'please get out of my room so I can watch my favorite movie in peace before the TV decides to become a bitch' message.

"What are you watching?" My mom asked, finally coming to sit on my bed with me.

"The Night's Awakening." I bluntly explained. I was good at explaining things, like how I'll respond _if_ mom finds me sneaking a letter to our mailbox in the middle of the night.

"So, you like watching this sort of stuff?" My mom asked again. I could see where she saw heading. As long as I could remember, I always spent my time with Gilbert and Francis. Mom never stopped working her days away. As of my dad, well, I never got mom to say a word about him. He never existed in my world. Maybe the universe, but not my world. When I was 15 I ran away and tired looking for him. Of course, I went without doing any research or proof, but that was just me. A child in a young man's body. Now that I'm 17 now though, I'm more meticulous about my surroundings. Maybe not my actions or words, but it's a start.

"You don't like it?" I answered her question with another question, because I was just an asshole like that.

"I'm just thinking that _this _isn't for you." My mom said. I didn't say anything after that. Words didn't ride the higher velocitized air that my fan provided. Nothing stopped. The movie kept playing at the mercy of the crappy TV, my pizza gave me the same amount of fullness that would soon felt be thrown up. I began imagining huge chunks of undisguised cheese and strings of red meat sauce scattered in the mix. The smell would be dreadful, a piece of my insides turned out to be within my already unappetizing meal. I couldn't handle the sight in my mind, not to mention with the fact I was running out of air in my tank, which was the cause of my nausea.

Finally, without warning, chunks blew onto the hard wood floor. Making a _splat _sound once it rained down onto the once gleaming floors that my mom somehow got clean every Sunday.

* * *

Mom cleaned up the mesh while I got some more life support from another air tank. My room reeked, the stench was dreadful, as much as the floor was shinning again, the vomit stained and stole the pleasant aroma that once filled my room. We agreed that I could sleep on the sofa, luckily without any objections.

Our sofa was old, the cloth ripped and worn down from the many asses that sat on it. I liked it anyway though, the tan dwindled color faded and washed out, but the cushions were, surprisingly, still fluffy.

The time was 10:00 at night. The TV in our living room was on, mom was sleeping, and I still had some time until I could take the offered agreement of contacting the so-called _Fault _in the letter.

Since I didn't have anything better to do, and it was still summer, I decided to write back.

_Dear Fault (or whatever your name is),_

_If you're some random stalker, then please, get out of my life before I make you. Because I'm pretty sure this isn't faith. _

_Anyway, I'm not stupid. The little decoration on the envelope meant nothing. If you're implying that you live in Hollywood, or something, then I don't give a shit. _

_My dream is non of your business,nor is my life. Tell me one thing that would make me believe that you're worth my time. _

_-Alfred_

* * *

The letter was written and packed away into a small, white envelope. The easy part was done, but I needed to get it to the mailbox. 'What a pain.' I though remembering the last time I went outside to get the mail.

After what felt like ten minutes of pondering, I slipped the letter under the front door. If this 'Fault' is persistent, then he'd poke around a bit more to find my message. And I highly doubted that. Plus, this is no stalker I've seen on the news or whatever.

If this turns into something big, then I've only learned one thing this summer; I will never have enough time.


End file.
